


Pizza won't cure the flu

by jesseofthenorth



Series: Bucky and Clint and the damned dog too [3]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Brotp, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: Clint Barton is a terrible sick person and other things





	Pizza won't cure the flu

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for my H/C Bingo card; Prompt was hiding an illness or injury.As stated in the series description these fic are only connected by a vague premise and the characters. We'll call this an AU of my AU

Clint Barton is a terrible sick person, mostly because he will lie about it until he falls over half dead. Clint Barton the sick person does not behave the same way Clint Barton wounded in the line of duty does. _That_ guy goes to sick bay or the hospital depending on how bad it is. He follows doctors orders and takes all his meds and generally does as he's told.  

But sick-guy Hawk-guy? Is kind of a dumbass. He usually handles the flu one of two ways; hides in his apartment until he is functional (relatively) again or he just goes to work and pretends he's fine until Steve yells at him and tells him to go home.

So, when Clint wakes up on a Tuesday feeling like his head is going to pop from the pressure building behind his eyeballs his first thought is to put his head back under the covers and sleep it off. Which would probably have worked except that his phone wouldn't shut the hell up and he _knew_ the only way to make it stop was answer it.

"What?!" He growled into the receiver

"Hawkeye."

"Again. What!?"

"When are you going to get a cell phone? It's a real pain in the ass trying to get a hold of you sometimes, you know that?"

"Steve. What?" Was that rude he felt like it might have been a little rude. Oh, wait he didn’t actually care right now.

"You need to come in. I know you had a couple of days off coming but we're down a man because of that damned flu that’s going around and there is a situation developing down by the water. We'll be there in 10, - click"

Wait. What? Click?

Well shit. Clint stuffed his feet in his boots, grabbed his bow (and quiver) and headed up to the roof. By the time the Quinjet arrived he was leaning against some big, dusty, slightly greasy…thing? roughly the size of a compact car. Trying not to faceplant on the asphalt roofing and mostly succeeding, largely due to the leaning.

Bucky was standing on the ramp as it lowered, holding out an extra-large paper cup. “Coffee” Clint mumbled tripping his way to the closest seat. He could have kissed Bucky for thinking of it.

“Maybe later” Bucky told him reaching of from his own seat to help Clint win the fight he was having with his safety harness.

Clint just blinked at him for minute. “Wut?”

“Never mind” Bucky answered. “Drink your coffee” quietly.

Clint blinked again, wondered for a second if he was missing something and then did what he was told. The coffee was perfect. He chugged it, hoping he’d get enough of a boost to get his shit together before they needed him.

It mostly worked. He swallowed the last dregs just as the QuinJet banked a pants-shittingly sharp turn and the rear hatched popped open.

“You’re up Hawkeye!” Steve barked and it occurred to Clint he should have probably been listening to…something, instead of concentrating so hard on chugging his coffee and not coughing a lung up on whoever was sitting across from him. Oh, right Bucky! Who gave him the coffee! What a great gu-“Hawkeye! Get the fucking lead out” Clint’s head snapped up, his seat belt popped and Bucky was holding a kit buy the open hatch. Clint hustled over.

“Shoot the little shiny bastards if they try to hurt anyone” Bucky muttered as Clint stumbled his way down the ramp. He turned around to ask what vantage they wanted but the jet was already pulling away.

Clint blinked down at whatever surface he was standing on. Roof. Right. An explosion to his left answered his most immediate questions and that was where Clint went to set up. He hunkered sown behind a short wall, popped in his comm link, nocked an arrow, and looked for something to shoot. Everything fell immediately into place after that, just like it always did.

 

****

  
“What the hell is up with Hawkeye?” Steve asked Bucky as soon as the fight had devolved into clean-up.

“Dunno” Bucky answered slinging a chunk of concrete the size of his torso off to one side. He looked up to the top of the building where Clint had been stationed during the fight.

“Hawkeye. Check in” Steve stated tapping his comm to open the channel.

Bucky could hear the dead air. He didn’t wait for Steve to give him the go ahead just took off in that direction. Falcon swooped in and grabbed him under the arms “Want a lift?” Bucky nodded and held on.

10 seconds later he landed soundlessly on the roof where they’d left Clint. He signaled and Sam pulled back. If there was trouble they didn’t both need to be right in the middle of it. Bucky moved as quickly as he did quietly toward the corner that over looked the fight. He saw nothing at first, no movement, no Hawkeye. And then there he was, slumped against the parapet, unmoving. Bucky abandoned all stealth in favor of getting the fuck over there.

“Man down” he barked into his open comm link.

There was no blood. Clint’s heart was beating. His breathing was labored. And he was completely unconscious, still clutching his bow. Bucky crouched beside him, pistols both drawn, covering while he waited for Sam to return and lend aid.

 

****

“You’re an idiot” was the first and only thing Bucky said to him when Clint woke up. In med bay at the tower.

“What?!” Clint demanded.

Bucky just looked disgusted and left.

 

****

Steve yelled a lot. Again. You’d think Clint would be used to it by now, getting yelled at by one of the few people he actually admired. Apparently not though, because he felt like a huge disappointing pile of shit by the time Steve left.

Clint pulled on his jeans and t shirt, grabbed his bow and the pile of sweaty tac gear and headed for his apartment to finish dying in peace. Having the flu sucked. Almost as much as disappointing Captain America and pissing off his not-a-sidekick best friend. He still didn’t know why Bucky was so pissed off.

 

****

Clint might have had a bit of a problem remembering his address when he hailed a cab to go home. Whatever, that’s what your drivers license was for. He fell asleep on the ride to Bed-Stuy. He was still only on the first flight of stairs up to the fourth floor when it occurred to him that this shithole needed an elevator. He had to stop and rest half a dozen times before he shakily jammed the key in his front door. Fucking flu.

He didn’t even bother kicking off his chucks before falling face first into the sofa. His last thought before passing out was that it smelled like Lucky’s ass.

****

He woke up to dog breath and then a wet tongue in his open mouth.

“Lucky that’s fucking gross. Please stop buddy” he croaked out like he’d been gargling glass. Lucky being the best friend a dude could have actually stopped. Clint used the top of him furry head to push himself upright and Lucky just wagged his tail and put up with it. Dogs are the best.

Kate being a good friend but also kind of and asshole said “Wow you look like shit”

Clint just blinked at her. His eyes were gummy and kind of sticking together. He swallowed down the crud stuck to his tongue, or tried to anyway. It felt like his throat, on top of hurting like a bitch, was glued shut. He needed something to drink, maybe that would help. Problem was his legs weren’t really… doing that leg…thing. He stared stupidly at his feet trying to figure out how to get from his disgusting sofa to the tap in the kitchen where he kept the water cuz he needed a drink really bad but holy shit there was going to be no moving now because god dammit _dizzy_.

Clint’s head hit the sofa cushions without any conscious thought. Apparently sitting up was as far as he was capable of getting and that was over for now. He heard Katey mutter something in a really pissed of tone. ‘three for three’ Clint thought and passed the fuck out.

 

****

 

He woke up feeling not much worse but completely confused and not just because of the flu. He wasn’t on the sofa anymore. He was in his bed? Probably? Except the sheets were clean and Clint didn’t actually remember his bed because he mostly slept on the sofa and also how the fuck did he get here anyway? If there was no sitting up or standing going on, before, Clint was pretty sure there had also been no walking. Or sheet changing. Did he even _have_ clean sheets? He rolled over because his ass was numb from sleeping and not moving. There was a glass with liquid and a straw in it.

And a note propped against the glass “drink this or I’m kicking your ass”. It wasn’t Kates handwriting. Or Tasha’s. Which left Clint stumped. He was pretty sure no one else he knew gave enough of a shit to leave him a glass of water never mind a threatening note so he’d drink it.

Still. Clint new some dangerous fucking people, several of whom could actually kick his ass. He didn’t feel like taking the chance at annoying any of them. It tasted like the most amazing thing he’d ever had in his mouth. He slurped the last few drops noisily out of the bottom of the glass, placing it carefully back on the bedside table before passing out face first into his pillow. He didn’t hear the soft tread that entered his room. Or see concerned eyes as Bucky reached for the glass and took it to refill, careful not to knock his note on to the floor.

****

Clint woke up feeling less dead and energetic enough to take piss and by energetic he meant in desperate need of. He wobbled his way to the can, hanging on to the wall to avoid faceplanting. He turned to wobble his way back to his bed or the sofa which ever was closer-

“HOLY FUCK BALLS BARNES!” he immediately regretted the volume if not the sentiment. His throat was still really fucking sore but jesus-christ-heart-attack! The guy was leaning against the bathroom door jam and Clint’d had no idea he wasn’t alone until his fucking heart almost stopped.

 

“Did you drink your water?” Bucky asked calmly, quietly, eye brows slightly furrowed.

 

“Bwut?” Clint spluttered at him.

 

“The water. I left it on your bedside thing.” he stepped closer and reached out to Clint “There was _note_ ” he said slipping an arm around Clint and moving him out to the short hall. “Bed or sofa?”

Clint blinked at him “That was you?”

“You’re really not firing on all cylinders are you champ?”

Clint blinked at him again.

“Right. Sofa. And more water. Maybe some Gatorade.”  
  
Clint went where he was steered, grateful for the help sitting down instead of face planting again. He was still blinking and trying to figure shit out when Bucky came back with a glass of water and two bottles of Gatorade. “Red or grape?” he asked

Clint scowled at him like it was the dumbest thing anyone have ever asked him.

Lucky curled up on Clint’s feet when he swung them up on the sofa. Bucky turned on Dog Cops and sat watching it until Clint fell asleep.

 

****

  
“Why are you here?” Clint asked.

“No man is an island Barton. Drink your fucking Gatorade like a good boy. If you don’t puke it up I’ll make you some soup later.”

“What does that even mean?” Clint groused around mouthfuls of purple liquid.

Bucky just eyebrowed at him and hit play on the next episode.

 

****  

 

“Hey did we win that thing with little killer robots?”

Bucky turned his head very slowly to look directly at Clint.

“Are we all dead?” Bucky asked doing the thing with his eyebrows. Again.

“Uh. No?”

Clint needed more sleep.

 

****

 

“Where’s Katey?”

“She had a thing in LA.”

“Well where’s Natasha?”

“Different thing in Belarus”

Clint had another question but was having a hard time formulated. He just sat there opening and closing his mouth like an idiot fish.

“You get that there are more than two people on this planet who care you don’t die right?”

“But. Barney’s like busy doing island… things.”

Bucky frowned at him. “You’re an idiot. Drink your fucking soup”

 

****

 

When he woke up (in his bed. Again) Bucky was gone.

There was a glass of water and a fresh note beside his bed “Drink this. Dumb ass”

He did as he was told and went to take a piss without wobbling once.

He really needed a shower. The cupboard thing was full of perfectly clean vaguely familiar linen.

He went to find caffeine. What he found in his kitchen was a pot set up and ready to brew. And a drain board full of clean... everything. There were even _clean spoons_.

There was fresh cream in the fridge. Along with eggs, cheese, left over pizza and enough purple Gatorade to drown a small pony in.

Clint took his coffee and sat on the sofa to think. It was slightly easier to do now that he wasn’t dying of the plague.

His tac gear was hanging on the hook by the door. Clean. There was no fucking way Nat or Katey had done that even if they’d been here. Either one of them would have been more likely to light it on fire before they risked enough contact with his sweat to risk _cleaning_ it. And even if Barney wasn’t hiding out on his stupid island Clint was fairly sure he didn’t have a fucking clue how to actually clean _anything._ And yet there it was clean and carefully hung up.

Carefully.

Care.

_“You get that there are more than two people on this planet who care you don’t die right?”_

Huh.

Clint was maybe a little dumber than he had originally thought.

 

He dug a well-hidden flip phone out of the couch cushions. He was pretty sure he knew the right number.

“Thanks for making sure I didn’t die.

Wanna split a couple pizzas and finish season 5?”

 

He went and got a drink of water and tried not think about his text being ignored. His phone binged just as he was finished chugging the water down.

“I thought you didn’t have cell phone.”

“I don’t.

Don’t tell anyone.

How do you feel about Hawaiian?”

…

“Don’t you fucking dare.

See you in 20”

 

****

 

They finished season 5 and started on season 6. Clint fell asleep leaning against Bucky.

Clint drooled when he slept.

Bucky didn’t really mind.

Turned out Pizza made Lucky fart. “Barton, you need to burn this fucking couch.” He muttered into the hair of the sleeping blonde disaster drooling on his shirt and went the fuck to sleep where he sat.


End file.
